


Chapter Thirty-Seven: Kiss Me, I'm Slagfaced

by CavalierConvoy



Series: MTMTE Series One: Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun [38]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers Generation Two
Genre: Apologies, Caring, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hangover, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavalierConvoy/pseuds/CavalierConvoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Four of <i>Knights of Hedonia:</i>  Not alone.</p><p>No longer alone.</p><p>But now, back on the <i>Lost Light</i></p><p>
  <i>back home</i>
</p><p>After all is said and done, had inner peace been reached?</p><p>A friend who looks past the darkness</p><p>
  <i>without fear or judgement</i>
</p><p>was all she needed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chapter Thirty-Seven: Kiss Me, I'm Slagfaced

I'm a pitiful sight  
And I ain't all that bright  
I'm definitely not chiselled from stone  
I'm a cheat and a liar  
No women's desire  
I'll probably die cold and alone

But just give me a chance  
'Cause deep down inside  
I swear I got a big heart of gold  
I'm a monogamous man  
No more one night stands  
Come on, honey, let me take you home  
—["Kiss Me, I'm Shitfaced" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VIVSHOQboo)by Dropkick Murphys, from _Blackout_

 _Lost Ligh_ t  
Now

Rodimus took the news as well as expected: face down, shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he slammed a fist into the graffitied surface of his desk.

Leaving him to regain his composure, Artemis handed the _Lost Light_ ’s unofficial third in command, Drift, the ship’s split in her profit. “Easy bounty, invested some for Swerve’s bar, which you should probably see about getting him to contribute some to the coffers.”

Lifting his head, Rodimus swallowed back another fit and asked, in a caricature of all seriousness, “Do you suppose this trip helped with morale?” A snicker escaped.

“For nearly everyone save Magnus.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Okay, this has been building up. Rod, if I can be frank, this is uncharted territory in the truest sense. We’ve got officers and criminals working side by side for a new life, a second chance. Many of them are on board because they believe in your cause. We’ve got to hold on to that. But to do so, we’ve got to take into consideration that morale is subjective. What Whirl finds amusing, Perceptor does not. Some of us can take a ribbing, insults. Others close up, get quiet, start doubting their worth. You ask me if this helped with morale in general? I think Rung may be more qualified to answer that question. Sure, I had a blast on this trip — nabbed a bounty, did a little bit of bootlegging, helped out Swerve, tore up some tarmac with Sunstreaker, and busted Trailcutter out of impound--"

"Wait, Trailcutter? Mister Nice Guy? Big grin, everyone likes him, impounded?" A snerk escaped Rodimus's throat. "Sorry, continue."

She glared at him, in warning. "But ask 'Cutter how he enjoyed his trip; he’s angry at me for getting him involved with my rum-running. And yes, while I take full responsibility for my actions, the best I can do is apologise to him.”

“Are you…sober?” Rodimus questioned.

Why was everyone asking her that? “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

“Thus explaining the coherency of your rant, not to mention the lack of curse words. And honestly, while I love hearing you talk about breaking laws for the greater good, I’d like to know where you’re going with this.”

She took a breath and leaned forward, nearly touching noses with her captain. “Lay off Magnus, Rod. Don’t tease him, don’t needle him, don’t harass him. You don’t know how close we could be to losing him, and, honestly? We lose him, we lose any semblance of order to this quest. You are the captain, the hope, the light, but he’s what’s keeping us from slipping into anarchy.”

He wanted to argue. She recognised the ego fighting tooth and nail with his common sense. He wanted to be the one who saw that. He wanted to be the saviour, the leader. He wanted to be loved by those he led.

He needed to hear it aloud.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, touching his forehead with hers. He didn’t fight her. “I follow you because I believe in you. You could have picked and chosen your crew; instead, you opened your arms and welcomed everyone who came. You give hope to those of us who are world-weary; you inspire those who would have otherwise never set foot off of Cybertron. I see a chance that the dream I had thought died long ago could come true through you. And I love you for that.” She pulled away. “But that’s not the only view held by this crew. Everyone has a different reason to be here. And everyone has that point where their hope, their faith, is tested to breaking.”

Rodimus said nothing for the better part of a cycle. “Where’s your breaking point, Art?” he questioned, tone even.

She thought about the conversation last night, with Max. “When I lose everything I ever cared about, what I’ve fought for. When I find that the sacrifices of those I loved were for nought. I’ve been there. I’ve seen it. And I won’t go there again.”

“You’re awfully quiet there, Drift,” Rodimus broke the silence after a cycle or two. “What do you think?”

“To be honest,” the swordsmech smirked, “I never pegged you for an orator. You’re good with words.”

“I’d rather speak with my fists,” she harrumphed. “Rod, sorry if I was out of line; I needed to get that off my spark. You know I tend to get protective of my friends.”

“Glad to be counted as one.” He hopped onto the surface of his desk, cross-legged. “You can be scary on the business end of things.” To Drift, he added, “Ever hear about how she forced Starscream to have a conscience?”

“It was his own damn fault,” Artemis rifled back, taking that as her queue to leave.

Drift followed her out, taking her arm as the doors closed behind them. “You’re not really here because of Rodimus, are you?”

“No, everything I said in there was true. Thirteen stels ago, Magnus would have thrown me to the turbofoxes had Rodimus not intervened; not because Kup, or Elita, or Rewind knowing the truth behind my past, but because he thought I deserved a chance. I also believe in settling my debts, and for that one sol where I found myself at the mercy of Autobots who believed me a traitor, Rodimus gave me clemency — I owe him that.”

Drift was confused. “You mean —”

“Rod gave me the chance to be an Autobot again; Magnus sealed the choice. Springer gave me an outlet for my aggression. And many others, for many different reasons and at many points, helped me shape my life.” She chuckled. “Sorry, I get broody when I’m sober.”

As she resumed her trek down the hall, Drift called after her: “Spar sometime? When you have a moment, that is?”

She laughed, turned to face him, sporting her game-changing grin. “I’m a Wrecker, kid; we do anything to win.”

He lowered his head, met her with a challenging smile of his own. “I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

She saluted him in her departure, heading to the officers' quarters. She and Skids had dragged Magnus to his hab when they returned to the Lost Light, and while patching things over with Trailcutter was high on her priorities, keeping an optic on what would be a hell of a hangover for someone inexperienced with the aftermath of a binge was more pressing. Artemis had persuaded Rodimus to keep the door unlocked so that she — and Ratchet, she had stressed — could keep tabs on the patient. She had experience dealing with her most intimate of friends, the hangover.

She was greeted by the sounds of retching from the private wash rack, and took the opportunity to key up a cup of hot, mild energon from the hab's fuel dispensary. Setting it on the desk, she walked back to just outside the rack and leaned against the jamb, granting privacy.

"Let me know if you need a hand, soldier," she announced, crossing her arms over her chest. "Have you taken any painkillers? I can make a call to Ratchet for some analgesics."

"What happened?" he demanded, voice weak from purging the system.

"Official story's that you had a system shutdown after your avatar system malfunctioned."

"And unofficially?" His abhorrence of cover stories undercut the hangover.

"Overestimation of what you could handle in drink potency. Probably didn't help you went from mixed drinks to an impressive number of lagers, but that's besides the point. We've already handled crowd control. And before you ask, the only one I threatened with physical punishment was Whirl. Everyone else is more afraid of what you'd do to them if word got out."

"How can you find this enjoyable?" he muttered.

"Oh, the hangover's the punishment," she corrected. "I'm surprised that you kept going."

Magnus exited the closet; haunched over, he met her gaze at her level. "Swerve."

"Not his fault, from what I gathered. Anyway, I bought his silence. Technically, I half-bribed, half-blackmailed him. I will state on his behalf that he seemed genuinely concerned about your well-being when me and Skids brought you in."

"'Skids and I,'" he corrected absently, staggering out. Without prompt, she darted under his right shoulder, looping her arm around his waist, and helped him to his berth.

Handing him the cup, she ordered, "Drink this. It's weak, it's bland, but it's hot, and will help settle your fuel tank and fight the nausea. I can do a run to the medibay to pick up some painkillers if you'd like. I might do that regardless. Drink it up and I'll tell you what happened to us on our end of things."

He groaned, a hand to his brow. "I... I'll take you up on those painkillers."

"I'll be right back," she patted his shoulder, standing. "I should have been there to watch your back."

He said nothing, only raised his hand in a noncommittal gesture.

"I'll be right back," she repeated, exiting the hab. He would ask more direct questions when the hangover ebbed, and while Whirl deserved the aft-kicking, she would rather keep him in good graces; Whirl was too useful in a firefight, but he held a grudge if one were to throw him under the shuttle.

"Hung out far too long with the 'Cons, Arty," she cursed herself out as she took the lift to the medibay. Activating her comm, she hailed, "Oi, Doc."

_"I swear to Primus you only do that to rile me up."_

"That means I like you. I'm heading down to pick up some painkillers for Magnus, maybe something to help with nausea."

_"I'll handle it. You've done enough. And for once I don't mean that sarcastically, Artemis."_

"I'd rather see this through, Doc. I owe him that."

_"You owe no one anything."_

"Nice of you to say, but I pay my debts."

 _"No use arguing with you. Unfortunate there's no cure for stubbornness, or else I'd've prescribed it to you by now. Probably would have to force-feed to you on top of that."_ With that, he cut transmission.

Upon leaving the lift, someone gathered her into a one-armed hug. "Okay, I forgive you," Trailcutter announced.

"Didn't give me a chance to rightfully apologise," she countered.

"You apologised on the shuttle, so apology accepted. Way I figured, if I had felt endangered at any time," he opened his free hand, a quick gesture; she felt a slight pressure by her shoulder that dissipated as quickly as it appeared. "It's no big deal, really. What is a big deal is that what you risked to get me out of impound. If it weren't for you, I'd still be on Hedonia, probably auctioned off to some used vehicle dealer from Monacus. So, how's Magnus?"

"On a scale of one to ten, I'd say he's at waking-up-in-the-brig, wondering if anyone got the number of the metrotitan that hit him."

Trailcutter winced. "Not the best way to experience a first hangover."

She held up a finger, a reminder. "Officially, it was an avatar malfunction."

"Officially." He nodded. "Gotcha. So we're on damage control?"

"I handled most of it already." She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "Hey, 'Cutter, can I ask you something personal?"

"How many times have we woken up together in the drunk tank together? I think we've gotten past that."

She smiled with a _hmph_. "Why did you come along on this quest?"

"A fair question." He tapped his chin. "I guess I was inspired by Rodimus's speech, coupled with the desire to travel again. Something didn't sit right with me since returning to Cybertron, you know?"

"Yeah, same here," she admitted.

"Maybe that's it. Got the taste while we were on Earth. So much to see, so much to experience. A touch of wanderlust, perhaps."

"A touch, yes."

"You're distracted again."

"No, I'm not."

"When you repeat words, you're distracted. What's on your mind?"

"A touch of wanderlust, but if you want to know the truth?" She flicked a smile without humour. "I was running away. Something I've done for a long time."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Trailcutter drawled, "but 'running away' is normally a solitary activity. And you are by no means alone here."

She made a noncommittal noise from her throat; he had a point. And _'alone'_....

It struck her: what was the last time she felt alone? Certainly not now, not with her present company, someone whom she would not have known from Prima half a stel past....

She liked this feeling. If she could place said feeling —

"Just going to throw this out there," Trailcutter continued, optics forward, with a faraway smile, "and please correct me if I'm wrong, you haven't been running away, as so much as looking for somewhere to belong."

 _Nailed it._ Had the answer always been that simple? Philosophy was never her strong suit, but how many times had she picked up her roots and bolted because things went south? All those times she had cursed herself and her escapism, when really all it had been was searching for a place to call home?

She was home. It was no longer the consensus distrusting her with a couple of comrades in her defence whispering in the audio receptors of the superiors.

"Lost you again, Art," her companion beckoned, then, after a couple of false starts, "I didn't say the wrong thing, did I?"

"No," she took his hand with both of hers, turned to face him, staring up at his bewildered face. "You're right. You're so right."

It had the potential of an epiphany, that moment, a shared spark pulse, then:

"Oh." He rubbed the back of his neck, grin growing goofy. "Not used to that...being told I was right, that is."

"I'm not used to people being nice to me," she countered, falling back into step with him as they approached the medibay entrance.

"Primusdammit, tell me at least one of you isn't drunk," Ratchet grumbled as the two walked into the medibay. Pointing a finger at Trailcutter, he added, "What did I tell you before you left? Tell me what I told you!"

"She's perhaps one of the few stone sober returning," Trailcutter held up his hands. "In all technicality, I did keep her out of trouble."

"Relatively speaking," Artemis countered as Ratchet grabbed her arm and swung her into a nearby chair. "I'd really like to get our second-in-command back in working order, Doc. He's gonna need a painkiller or six."

"Yeah, about that," Ratchet ejected a probe and, flicking it to its torch setting, shined it into her optics. "Any symptoms since yesterday? Cravings, irritation -- who am I kidding, that's you normally -- cruel and tragic pranking of your crewmates...?"

"Other than trying to get Drift to leave me alone by queueing up the most depressing epic of Earth cinema, only to be invaded by this guy and his buddies, let in by my traitorous sidekick, to watch Three Flavours till the aft-crack of dawn? Had one stout. He was not enabling, before you ask." She added defensively, flicking a thumb towards her friend. "So can I get those painkillers for Magnus?"

"One stout since last night? Stand up." Ratchet flicked the probe upwards. She did as ordered, and he patted down her hips. "Left the flask at the hab?" She nodded, and Ratchet glared at Trailcutter. "You're not hiding it for her, are you?"

"No, sir!" Trailcutter held up his hands.

Ratchet regarded both of them with a deep frown before turning his back on them, approaching his pharmaceutical counter and punching up a series of codes, then ejecting an injection port. "Keycoded to him, so don't be trying to pawn it off."

"Thanks, Doc." Artemis made a grab for the drug; Ratchet pulled it back.

"Don't," he growled, pointing a finger at her, "call me Doc."

*

"So has Rewind approached you regarding his pet project?" Trailcutter questioned as they returned to the lift.

"A while back, yeah, he interviewed me. Why do you ask?"

"Dunno — just kinda thought about it after we got back to the ship. Thinking about how that looked, us coming in hot to the shuttle. You know he was filming that."

"You think he's going to put that in his documentary?"

"'Two trucks and a sports car break through a median, carrying consumption-grade nucleon after springing out of a spaceport impound....'"

"I said I was sorry!"

"Well, now it's funny. And because of it, you probably managed to get our entire ship on the barred list."

"Well, we got what we needed, right? Seriously, I don't understand why we can't just find a Shadow affiliate and trade with them; I can get some wicked discounts without the getting kicked off-planet for bootlegging, jail-breaking, and parking in the yellow zone."

"For what it's worth," Trailcutter threw his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close, "Next time we have shore leave, they'll think twice about keeping you idling."

His breath smelled of whisky. Her hand closed around the injection port as a reminder to keep focused. Her flask was in the hab unit; her stash of whisky in one of her storage lockers. Plan of attack: deal with Magnus, get things straightened out on that front, and then —

"You're thinking something deep, Art," he observed, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Do remember your first hangover?" she questioned, out of the blue.

"Kind of a blur, really." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sometime before the Clampdown, maybe. You?"

"I had lost a friend," she admitted. "Two, technically, but I didn't realise that until much later. Before the math tutor, that is. Hangovers and grief aren't the happiest of couples."

"Nope, getting too depressing. Tell you what: go take care of your boy, and then we'll watch some unintentionally funny public service and propaganda documentaries from around the home front with the usual suspects. I'm certain they'll want to hear about your adventures today."

"Not Hoist. Never Hoist. He'll just glare at me and frown."

"He had a faceplate. He can't frown."

"Sure he can. You can hear him frown. And glare. He glares very loudly."

"I think he'd like to like you. He's just not used to Wreckers."

"He doesn't _like_ Wreckers."

"That's not true."

"'I don't like hotheads, ex-Cons, and Wreckers.' He said that. To me. Directly."

"C'mon, if that were true, he wouldn't like Inferno. Or Skyfire! And — hold on — he likes Perceptor. So you see? He just needs to warm up to you. Besides, if he didn't like you, he wouldn't agree to movie night at our hab, because, yanno ... we've been kinda doing group nights together lately."

She mustered a smile as the lift halted onto the command floor. "So, eighteen-hundred or so?"

"I'll let you know where we're meeting," he nodded, pulling away but giving her helm a light rap as she got off the lift. "Try to stay out of trouble until then."

"Tall order," she smirked.

NEXT CHAPTER:  
_Shoot Straight with a Crooked Gun:_ Ninety Nine Problems  
_Knights of Hedonia:_ Intimate Stranger


End file.
